The Flash, The Girl, and the Cop
by Pickwick12
Summary: All about Barry Allen's life with the Wests from childhood to the present. Will contain WestAllen.
1. Age Eleven

**Age** **Eleven**

"Baby, how would you feel about Barry staying here for a while?" Iris sits in her Daddy's lap, fingering the soft satin material of his necktie.

"That would be cool," she answers. "I always wanted a brother."

"This—could be a little different, Sweetie," her father continues. "You know what happened to his family, right?"

"Uh huh," she answers.

"Barry still—he doesn't like to remember it how it happened, so if he says something weird, try not to react too much, ok?"

"Ok, Daddy," she answers, leaning against his chest.

That night, Barry Allen and all of Barry Allen's emotional baggage move into the West house. Iris doesn't talk a lot. She tends to be shy around new people, and she's only met Barry a couple of times, down at the police station.

He doesn't have much stuff with him. A lot of the things in his family's house have been confiscated for evidence. But still, it's all boy stuff—cargo pants and comic books and posters of cars and planes, which fascinates her; she likes the things people call boy stuff, sometimes. Her dad helps Barry put up a few things on the walls, to help him feel a little bit more at home.

Iris retreats to her room after a while, not sure where she's needed in the moving process. Maybe, she thinks, it's easier if you get a brother the normal way. Then he _has _to like you, or at least tolerate your existence.

_Tap tap tap_

Someone knocks on her almost-closed door. "Coming, Daddy," she says.

"It's Barry," says the voice on the other side, and she opens the door to reveal her new foster brother, with comic book in hand.

"Hi, Barry," she says.

"Hi, Iris," he replies. "Your dad told me you like Superman, so I brought you this."

"Thanks," she answers, taking it from him carefully.

"Also—" he hesitates. "Thanks for letting me live here." He hightails it back to his new room, and Iris smiles to herself, hugging her new comic book.

* * *

><p>Barry likes living with the Wests. At least, he would if either of them believed him. He can see in their eyes that they both think he's delusional whenever he mentions the night of his mother's murder. Joe tries to get him to admit the truth; Iris doesn't say anything.<p>

The script plays out pretty much the same way every single time. Barry runs; Iris tells; Joe comes. The boy doesn't blame Iris. In fact, some subconscious part of him is glad whenever Joe's police car comes up next to him, outpacing his running form. Not that he realizes it consciously.

After another "I hate you," Barry storms off to his room, missing the irony that Joe West is the only reason he has a room. Except, he doesn't miss it for that long.

Iris bursts into his room without knocking. "Barry Allen, what is wrong with you?" Her eyes flash fire. She may be a kid, but she can certainly be scary when she wants to be.

"Huh?" Barry sits up on the edge of his bed, glad that he hasn't let his unshed tears out. He doesn't want Iris to see him cry.

"Why do you treat my dad like that?"

"He won't believe me, Iris. I hate him."

Iris sits next to him on the bed, her shoulder touching his. "No, you don't. My dad is the only reason you have somewhere to live that isn't a group home."

"I wouldn't expect you to get it," Barry retorts. "You're little miss perfect."

"Shut up," says Iris, but she hugs him, hard, before leaving his room.

Iris leaves Barry's door cracked open, the way Joe prefers it, and the boy is about to close it all the way when he hears low voices outside in the upstairs hallway.

"Did you talk to Barry?" Joe's voice asks.

"Yeah," Iris answers. "Don't be too hard on him. He's about to cry."

Barry shakes his head. How does she know? How does she always know? He doesn't have long to ponder before Joe barges in, in exactly the same manner as his daughter. "Hey, kid," he says. Barry stretches out on the bed, turning his face toward the wall, hoping it will dissuade the policeman from invading his space.

No go. Joe West moves his feet over and plops down on the end of the bed.

"Should I start packing?" Barry asks.

"What?" Joe replies, clearly confused.

"I figured one of these times, you'd send me back."

With that, Barry finds himself forcibly turned around by two huge hands. Joe sits him up, not letting go of his thin shoulders. "You listen to me, Barry Allen," he says, "I'm. Never. Going. To. Send. You. Away." He punctuates each word like it's the most important one in the world. "You, me, and Iris are a family now. Don't tell me I'm not your father. I know that, kid, but I'm going to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Joe finally lets go, and Barry can't hold the tears in any more. After all, he's not really that tough. He just likes to act like it. He settles back onto his bed, sobbing into his pillow. Joe doesn't say anything else. He just rubs circles onto the boy's back and sits with him until he's cried out.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, Joe takes Barry to Iron Heights. He doesn't really blame the kid—not for any of it. He's never had a chance to find any kind of closure with the father he idolized.<p>

It's ugly, just as the policeman knew it would be. At least they let father and son have a forbidden hug. Joe has wanted to hug Barry lots of times, but the boy wouldn't let him, and he refuses to force the issue.

The ride home is silent. Joe ventures a gentle, "Want to talk about it?" but is met with nothing, not even a look in his direction. He lets it go.

They get home to Iris before dinner time, and Joe notices something weird: Barry cleans his plate, and he puts it in the sink, no reminder needed. The next morning is even stranger. The kid gets himself up for school and goes through his entire morning routine without a single complaint or missed step. It's like Joe suddenly has two Irises in the house, not his sweet daughter and a troubled boy who doesn't want to be there.

The next day, it happens all over again, and Joe is so confused he corners Iris while Barry is in the shower. "Sweetheart, have you noticed anything weird about Barry?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head. "He seems ok."

That's the weird part, Joe thinks. He seems ok, and he shouldn't be ok, not after what the policeman witnessed in the prison. Still, the good streak continues all week, and Barry doesn't try to run away even one time.

Finally, Friday rolls around, the day Iris and Barry take the bus home and wait an extra hour for Joe to finish paperwork at the office. He comes into the house, tired from his day, and finds Iris nowhere to be seen and Barry on the couch, motionless.

"Where's Iris?" is his first question.

"Upstairs doing homework," the boy answers listlessly.

"Don't you two usually do your work together?" Joe asks, trying to figure out if his kids have had a fight of some kind.

"I told her I wanted to wait for you alone," Barry answers, not looking at him.

Joe sighs and sits on the couch next to the little boy. It's time for the other shoe to drop, he figures. "Did you get in trouble at school?"

Without answering, Barry hands him a sheet of paper. It's a spelling test, and at the top it says, "93% B+ Great job, Barry."

"I'm sorry, Joe. I'm really sorry!" The boy's voice breaks.

"Huh?" asks the policeman, more confused than ever. "This is a really good grade." He takes a big hand and cups Barry's chin. "What's this about?"

"I should have gotten a hundred," Barry says, his tears brimming over. "I studied REALLY hard!"

"Nobody's perfect, son," Joe answers, hoping this is the issue and that he can easily fix it. But Barry just cries harder.

The policeman thinks back through the week, trying to understand. He casts his mind back to Iron Heights, and it's then that it hits him. "This is about what your dad said, isn't it?" He asks. The boy nods between his sobs.

"That's why you've been so perfect all week," Joe continues, "because your dad told you to be good."

The kid leans forward and buries his head in his knees, but Joe West has had it. "C'mere," he says, not giving Barry a choice. He's about twice the kid's height and three times his strength. For the first time ever, he pulls Barry Allen into his lap and holds him.

For a few seconds, the boy fights, but then he settles into Joe's arms, and the policeman shifts him to a comfortable position against his chest. "Barry, what your dad wants most is for you to be happy. I'm sure about that. That's what I want and what Iris wants, too. You don't have to be perfect. Just be a kid."

Barry doesn't answer, but his sobs gradually subside. Joe continues to hold him, trying to communicate with his arms what he doesn't know how to say. After a while, he looks down and sees that the boy has fallen asleep against his shoulder. As carefully as he's ever held Iris, Joe picks him up and carries him to his bedroom, laying him gently on his bedspread.

"Joe," says a sleepy voice, just as he's about to leave the room.

"Hmm?" he asks.

"Will you come back when it gets dark?"

"Of course I will, son. Just like I always do."


	2. Age Thirteen

**Age Thirteen**

Barry is grounded. Iris knocks lightly on his door, hoping to ease the tension between her foster brother and her father, once again, the way she always does.

"It's me, Barry," she says, coming into his room, which is now covered in science posters and has a desk with a microscope on it beside his bed, a Christmas gift from her and her dad the previous year.

"Hey, Iris," he says. He's sitting on his bed reading a biography of Thomas Edison, trying to look like he doesn't care that he's just had another epic fight with Joe West. Iris knows that look. It's a look that says he's almost ready to apologize, but not quite.

"What set you off this time?" she asks, sitting in his desk chair.

"Same thing," Barry admits, shutting his book. "He—said if my dad comes up for parole, he's going to testify against him, thinks he shouldn't be out."

Iris shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Barry. You know I believe you—now, but my dad, he's not big on the unexplained. He saw what he saw. He doesn't mean to hurt you. Even the parole thing—that's to keep you safe. He doesn't want you to get hurt any more."

Her foster brother's eyes flash, and she sees a mixture of anger and tears. "He should mind his own business sometimes," he mumbles. Iris just looks at him, and in a moment, he adds, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Then go tell him," she says. She's not usually so bossy, but she knows when to play her cards where Barry Allen is concerned.

"I'm not ready yet," he sulks, and she can't help smiling.

"Want a hug?"

"Ok," he grouses, and she wraps her arms around him.

"Just remember, I believe you," she whispers in his ear.

* * *

><p>Barry waits another twenty minutes before trudging back downstairs to face Joe. It always seems so reasonable to be mad at the guy, but then Iris comes, and he's forced to remember that everything he has and is, he owes to the tall, strict cop.<p>

"Barry," greets Joe, looking up from his newspaper.

"Joe," answers the boy, staring at the carpet.

"Something you want to say, kid?" The detective waits.

"M'sorry, Joe," says Barry, as quickly as he can. "I shouldn't have cursed at you."

"That's right," Joe agrees. "But I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have sprung the parole thing on you like that." Barry looks up, surprised. Joe has never apologized to him before.

"Yeah, I mess up too, son," admits the older man, smiling.

"It's—ok," says Barry.

"All right," says Joe. "I'll make you a deal. You're still grounded, but if you give me a hug, I'll cut it down from six days to three. How does that sound?"

Barry walks over slowly and a little bit sheepishly, but he really doesn't mind. The Wests are huggers, and he's learning to be one too. Joe wraps him in a bearhug, and he can't help grinning in spite of himself.

* * *

><p>Joe orders pizza for dinner. There's probably some parental law against getting pizza for a kid who's grounded, but frankly, he doesn't care. He still feels guilty about how easily he lets Barry push his buttons. It shouldn't be that way, but when he sees the boy, with his big eyes and serious face, he just wants to shield him from all the pain in the world, including the pain brought about by his own father, but the kid is dead-level determined not to give up his illusions.<p>

"Pepperoni, jalapenos, and olives," he says into the phone. It's the kid's favorite. And Barry is a good kid, issues aside. He's as smart as Iris, which is saying something, and he's kind. As a cop, Joe interacts with a lot of kids who have troubled pasts. Very few of them are as respectful and responsible as Barry Allen.

It's just that, well, Barry has become _his kid_, and Joe West doesn't take that responsibility lightly. If he were watching from afar, it would be easier to retain the professional detachment he finds necessary to cope with his day-to-day duties. But Barry belongs to him, and that's the problem. He just wants to put a smile on the kid's face, to wipe away the memories that no one can erase. And he can't. That's what makes him angry—not at Barry, but at the ugliness in the world.

Still, there's no ugliness to be found when the three of them sit down to dinner. Barry's eyes light up like it's Christmas, and Iris gives her father the special smile she reserves for moments when she approves of what he's doing so much she could burst.

All in all, it could be worse. Joe West knows he isn't perfect, but for one night, he has two happy kids. He figures he might as well be happy too.


	3. Age Fifteen

**Age Fifteen**

"Barry, that's amazing!" Iris says, staring wide-eyed at the invitation letter in her foster brother's hand. "Mr. Paulsen says the Belvedere Science Camp is the best one in the country! You'll learn so much there."

"I know!" he answers, grinning.

"I'm so proud of you," Iris adds, as the two siblings walk out of the school building and toward the place where Joe's car will be waiting.

Barry can't stop looking at the letter, and she doesn't blame him. All of his hard work is paying off, all the hours he spends in the science lab and studying at home. He deserves this, she thinks.

"Iris, I—can't go," he suddenly says, as they walk arm-in-arm across the asphalt parking lot.

"Why not?" She asks, bewildered by his sudden change of mood.

"It's really expensive," he answers, deflated, pointing at a number at the bottom of the letter, right under the words "Entrance Fee."

Iris stops walking and faces him. "Barry, you know my dad will pay for it. I mean, we're not rich, but this is a big deal. He'll be so proud."

"Iris, I'm not telling him," Barry intones, staring at the ground.

"Then I will," she says.

"Please, Iris," he pleads, "let me make my own decision."

She wants to say no, but when she sees the look on his face, she can't. "All right, fine, whatever."

* * *

><p>Barry tries to be normal on the ride home, to push down the crushing disappointment he feels. He wants to go to Belvedere more than anything he's ever wanted—other than to turn back time and bring his mom back.<p>

But he can't ask Joe West for that kind of money. Not when he thinks about the last four years, years when he should have been either fending for himself in a group home or being transferred between foster home after foster home.

And what does Joe West have to show for all of his efforts? Barry can't help remembering all the days of running, trying to get away from the only person who cared enough to chase him.

That's why, when he gets home, he waits until Joe is upstairs and throws the letter away in the kitchen trash, right under the previous night's litter of Chinese takeout boxes.

* * *

><p>"Dad, look in the kitchen trash. I can't say more."<p>

Joe West stares at the handwritten note that Iris's fingers have just shoved under his bedroom door and then puts down his novel and makes his way back downstairs.

He opens the bin and finds the remains of his Sesame Chicken from the night before, but he hasn't made detective for nothing. He fashions a makeshift glove out of a paper towel and roots deeper into the morass of garbage. That's when he catches the name of Barry's and Iris's school on the outside of a food-stained envelope, and he gingerly pulls the letter out from under the refuse.

Joe West is about prepared to go postal on whichever kid decided not to show him a note home from school, but when he takes out the unmarred letter inside the envelope, it's not what he expects at all.

"Barry, can I come in? We need to talk." He's at the kid's room within five minutes.

"Sure, Joe," answers his foster son, opening his door and looking a little too eager.

The older man sits on the end of Barry's bed, like he always has, right next to the kid. "Son, can you explain to me why I just found an invitation letter from the Belvedere Science Camp in my trashcan?"

Barry's face falls. "It's no big deal. I don't even want to go."

"Barry Allen, do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No, Sir," comes the nervous reply. "It's just—it's a lot of money, and I know it's too much."

"Like this much?" Joe takes a check out of his pocket and puts it into Barry's hand. It's made out for the exact amount specified in the letter.

The boy's eyes widen. "Joe, I can't take this."

"Why not?" asks the detective, putting his arm around his foster son and pulling him closer. "I'm proud of you, Barry. You've earned it."

"But—it's too much." The boy shakes his head insistently.

Joe cups Barry's chin like he did when he was eleven, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Would you say that if this was Iris's opportunity?" The kid shakes his head no, blinking hard.

"I wish, for once, you would realize that I love you as much as I love my daughter," Joe continues. He wasn't planning to say it, but it fits. "Just take it, Son."

With that, he leaves the room, but not without catching a glimpse, in his peripheral vision, of Barry smiling and tearing up at the same time. That kid has no idea how sweet he is, Joe thinks, but maybe that's a good thing.


	4. Age Seventeen

**Age Seventeen**

Iris is crying in the backseat of her father's car. She doesn't want Barry or Joe to see, so she acts like she's fallen asleep, but tears silently track their way down her cheeks. She thinks back to six years before, when she'd been the only one in Joe West's house and heart. They had been happy. But now it seems like that kind of happiness was nothing to what it feels like to have a brother. A brother who's leaving for college at one of the best science programs in the world.

"Baby, are you ok?" She should have known her dad wouldn't miss the signs.

"I'm fine, Daddy," she says, but her voice breaks.

Barry turns around in the front seat, peering into the back with a worried expression. "Iris, I'll be back for Christmas. It'll go by so fast you won't even miss me." He grins, but it's a sad grin.

Iris's Daddy is no idiot. When it's time for lunch and a refuel, he stops off at a diner. "You two go eat. I'm going to get gas and take a walk," he says, handing over a credit card.

Barry and Iris sit opposite each other in a dingy diner booth. Iris tries to look at the menu, peering at an array of burgers and shakes, but her mind is elsewhere, imagining how empty upstairs is going to feel without Barry in the next room.

In a moment, she feels a hand rest on top of hers. "You know I'm coming back, right? I'm not gonna stop being your friend just because we're in college." She looks up and sees the usual sincerity in his eyes.

"Thanks," she answers. "I know you still want to find out what happened to your mom, and you have a lot of things you want to do. Just—don't forget about us."

Barry squeezes her hand tightly. "Iris, there is no way I could _ever _forget about you. You're my best friend—and my sister."

* * *

><p>Barry helps Joe unload the car while Iris puts his belongings away in his tiny dorm room. There are a lot of things he wants to say to the detective, things he's not sure how to articulate. For the time being, they work in unison, and he feels the comfort of having the solidity and dependability of the older man by his side.<p>

Everything finally inside, the three of them sit around the little room, not saying anything, when Iris gets up. "I'm going to get a drink at the vending machine we saw when we came in." Barry watches her leave the room, and he wants to ask her to stay. It's too much to be left alone with her father, to try to figure out how to say goodbye. He stares down at his hands, and the cuff of his shirt reminds him that everything he has is because of Joe West.

Just like he's twelve again, Barry watches Joe get up from his Ikea desk chair and join him on the edge of his dorm room bed. "Am I in trouble?" he asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nope," says Joe, rubbing his hand across his face. "I am."

* * *

><p>Joe looks everywhere but at Barry Allen. Not like he needs to look at him. He's memorized every part of that kid, from the top of his spiked hair to the soles of his Converse-clad feet. He's tall now; one more growth spurt, and he'll be taller than the detective. But he's still slight, like a twig you could break. And he's fragile.<p>

Barry may have been Central City High School's Valedictorian, the brilliant science brain that seemingly every university in the country wanted to recruit. But Joe still sees the little boy reflected out of those honest eyes, the kid who still hasn't made peace with what happened the night his mother died.

"Joe, I picked my major," breaks the silence.

"Oh yeah? I thought you were undecided."

He looks over. and Barry shakes his head. "Not anymore. I picked forensics—forensic science. I'd like to help the police solve crimes—like you."

Joe smiles. "Good choice." He wraps his arms around his skinny kid.

"You be good, Barry Allen." He's said it a million times, before sleepovers, school dances, and dates. It's never brought tears to his eyes before.


	5. Age Nineteen

**Age Nineteen**

Iris wakes up at 6am to the sound of something crashing onto the floor in the next room. "Barry, are you ok?" She's at his door in a moment.

"Yeah, sorry," comes the response, before her red-eyed foster brother opens the door.

"Did you even sleep?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm almost done with the experiment on stationary particles."

"In your room. In the middle of summer break," she says drily. Iris's idea of summer break is sleeping in, doing the afternoon shift at Jitters, and then going to a movie. Not doing complex scientific experiments in her bedroom.

"If I finish this, Dr. Maxwell says I could get published in the next _New Science Journal_."

"Right," she says. "But you could do it at 3pm, instead of 3am." Barry rubs the back of his neck, his habit when he's nervous.

"I get it," Iris continues. "You're still trying to figure out—what happened. Look, I'm on your side. Just be honest with me. And get some sleep, or my dad's going to rethink his stance on not grounding people over 18."

She stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. "Night, Barry. In my world, 6am during summer break is still the middle of sleepy time."

* * *

><p>Barry blinks.<p>

He's lived next door to Iris West for eight years, minus a few months of university. His mind quickly figures out a mathematical ratio for how many times she's kissed him. The answer is in the hundreds.

He's seen her with her hair up, down, half-up, drenched in sweat, and permed, during that unfortunate middle school phase. She doesn't own an outfit he hasn't seen her wear.

But somehow, her 6am self, with hair sticking out, no makeup, and faded pajamas is the most beautiful she's ever looked.

"I really need sleep," he thinks.

* * *

><p>Joe West is already up, eating his oatmeal, when he hears something crash upstairs. Eight years ago, he'd have run up as fast as he could go. Heck, he'd have probably done the same thing two years ago. But Barry is nineteen, and the detective reminds himself that the kid can take care of his own messes.<p>

Maybe.

It's hard to let go. Not so much of Iris, which is strange, in a way. He'd expected his daughter to be the one he struggled to relinquish. But Iris is strong, like he is.

Barry is the one who still stays up all night trying to solve a murder that's been quiet for eight years. He's the one who drives up to Iron Heights every week during the summer, only to come home looking like a whipped puppy. He's the one who still needs so much guidance, and it's a complicated thing to let go and keep holding on at the same time.

The moment after the crash, Joe hears a door open, and he knows Iris is making her way down the hall, checking on her brother like she always has. That's ok, then. She's always known what to do. He smiles to himself and stays put.

**A/N: This one is for all the lovely Westallen fans out there. Smooches!**


	6. Age Twenty-One

**Age Twenty-One**

"Hey, Stranger." Iris puts a light hand on her foster brother's shoulder. "You don't look ok. What's going on?" Barry is seated alone at a table near the window in Jitters, the place were Iris still works when she's not doing summer classes.

Barry looks up and smiles. "Hey, Iris—nothing major, just a tough day at work."

Iris calls over to the counter. "Lee, I'm taking a break." She sits down opposite her downcast best friend. "Is my dad being a pain?"

"He's just doing his job," Barry answers. "I'm only an intern, and he doesn't want to look like he's favoring me."

Iris nods understandingly. "It's brave of you to take a job where my dad works."

"Nah," he shakes his head. "I'm lucky to work with him. He's the best."

Iris grins. "We agree on that."

* * *

><p><em>Got a date tonight?<em>

Barry's phone lights up, and he stares at the text message from Joe West, wondering what it means.

_No _he answers truthfully. He's not seeing anyone.

_Meet me at Ricky's at 7:00._

Barry shows up. When Joe tells you to go somewhere, you go, whether you're thirteen or thirty. He finds the detective in a booth at Central City's best sports pub. As he walks over to take his seat, he wonders if he's about to get another tongue-lashing related to his work performance.

"Barry," says Joe's booming voice. He's smiling. The kid figures that's probably good.

"Hi, Joe," he says. "I'm sorry."

"For what, son?" The detective looks up from he perusal of the menu, confusion on his face.

"For whatever this—meeting is about," Barry answers.

Joe laughs. "I'm not mad. It's just been a long time since we've caught up, had a meal outside the precinct."

"Oh," says Barry, nodding.

* * *

><p>Joe West feels like a heel. He's not used to Iris stomping into his office and telling him to stop doing something. In fact, he can count on one hand the number of times she's been that incensed. When she is, he listens. Still, he didn't quite believe her when she said Barry was upset. The kid always seemed fine at work. Haven't they known each other for over ten years?<p>

Except, said Iris, her brother was feeling a lot of tough without a lot of love. When Joe sees Barry Allen's face as he takes his seat opposite him, he gets it. Iris wasn't kidding.

It's awkward. Joe hates awkward. And it shouldn't be awkward to have dinner with his foster son, the kid he's raised for a decade. It should be easy, like it used to be. Whatever the kid's flaws, he's a good kid, and more than that, he's Joe's kid.

The detective clears his throat. He's not one to avoid his duty, even if it's an uncomfortable one. "I want to apologize," he says. Barry's eyes register surprise.

"When you took the internship with CCPD, I knew that part of the reason they gave it to you was because of me. You know I've always prided myself on being fair. I thought—if I was tough on you, it would even things out. But I was wrong. You're a good scientist, and you're an asset to the department. I shouldn't have lost sight of that, whatever our personal history."

Barry meets Joe's eyes, and the detective realizes he's looking into the face of a young man, not a boy. "Joe, I took the job because I respect you, and I believe in what you're doing. I don't care how much pressure you put on me. I'm going to finish the summer, and when I finish school, I'm going to come back here and work full time. I know what I want now, and it's that."

Joe grins. When you've known someone as long as he's known Barry Allen, a few feet of distance can be bridged in an instant. "Fine with me, kid, on one condition."

"Yeah?"

"You may not live in my house any more, but you, me, and Iris are going to make time to be a family."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Barry answers, a smile lighting up his face.

—-

Later that night, Joe calls Iris. "Hi, Baby."

"Hi, Dad."

"I took your advice," Joe says.

"I know," his daughter answers. "Barry called me. He sounded happy."

"Thanks, sweetheart," the detective says. "You were right."

"I know."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hugs and kisses to all of you who are reading and reviewing. **


	7. Age Twenty-Three

**Age Twenty-Three**

Iris watches Barry walk into the lab. His eyes travel around the room like he's a kid looking at presents under the Christmas tree. It's not like he's never been here before, but this is the first day it's _his_.

The girl shares a smile with her father, but neither of them says anything. This is Barry's moment. The cake ordered by the precinct and all the congratulatory slaps on the back from the cops were received with smiles and slightly shy nods, but this is different.

Barry is like a king surveying his kingdom for the first time.

After a while, he looks back, and Iris meets his eyes, grinning. "Congratulations, Barry. You deserve it." He's so happy he comes over and lifts her off her feet, spinning her until the world is a blur around her. He can do that now.

There was a time when he was shorter than Iris, when she was the one who protected him. Sometimes she misses those days, when it seemed like he needed her so very much. Not today. Today she's just happy.

Besides, she fits perfectly in his arms. There's a lot to be said for that.

* * *

><p>Barry looks at the lab like he's seeing it for the first time. Every piece of equipment, so familiar, burns itself in his memory like a snapshot in time.<p>

The microscope reminds him of Christmas when he was twelve, the year Joe and Iris West bought him his first one. He'd expected a few comic books or maybe some new shoes, if he was lucky. The big box, he'd thought, was for Iris. Of course it was for Iris, Joe's perfect little girl. Except it wasn't. It was for him. He'd opened it and cried.

The centrifuge reminds him of his chemistry project for the science fair when he was fourteen. The one Joe West stayed up until 3am helping him finish, without ever even complaining. The blue ribbon he'd won is faded now, but it's still tacked to Joe's refrigerator.

The files strewn across a side table remind him of his first year of college, when he'd gotten so overwhelmed by the half-finished assignments littering his desk that he'd called Iris and told her he wanted to come home. That was the weekend she'd driven hours just to see him for a day. They'd lain on the grass by the lake in the middle of campus, their heads almost touching, but not quite. She'd told him he could keep going. He'd believed her.

Someone has framed the first page of his CCPD work contract and left it on his desk, the one with his name and job title on it. It's a nice touch, and he's pretty sure he knows who did it—the same man who wrote a recommendation letter staking twenty years of experience on Barry's ability to do the job. The same man who, twelve years ago, had staked his entire life on Barry's potential to become a good man.

* * *

><p>Joe West kisses his daughter goodbye as she leaves for class, but he stays put, silently watching the scientist in his lab. There's no question Barry Allen is meant to be here, at home among equipment Joe doesn't know how to pronounce.<p>

He could stand there all day, watching happiness radiate from the kid like he's just found the love of his life. It's hard to remember, today, that Barry is twenty-three years old. He sees the little boy shining out of those eyes, but back then, all Barry had wanted to do was run. Sometimes he wonders what finally stopped him.

"Joe," says the kid's voice, after a long while.

"Hmm?" The detective stands still, waiting, listening, like always.

"Thank you," says Barry, turning and facing him, grinning.

"It's not me, Son," says Joe. "You're the one who's qualified."

"Yes," the boy answers, "I am. Because of you." The detective welcomes the hug that follows, marveling that the kid who used to be barely five feet tall is eye-to-eye with him now.

Joe West isn't big on emotionally-wrought conversations, mostly because he's the world's biggest teddy bear. At least, that's what Iris calls him, and Iris knows. But he's alone with Barry in a comfortable place, and he chances the question.

"Barry, why did you quit running?"

His surrogate son turns back to him, another smile lighting his face. "Because I realized—when you get where you're going, there's no reason to run any more. You and Iris were the place I wanted to be."

Joe blinks rapidly, trying to force back his all-too-ready tears.


	8. Age Twenty-Five

**Age Twenty-Five**

"My professor says if I don't specialize, I'm going to get stuck in an HR position in a corporate cubicle." Iris is frustrated. She leans against a table in Barry's lab with her arms folded.

"You like writing, don't you?" asks Barry. "A communication degree is good for that."

"I like writing," she echoes, "but not for hours at a time, alone in my apartment. I could never be a novelist. I need to get a Master's in something else." She sighs. When she'd planned to enter the Police Academy, it had all seemed so simple and easy. Once she'd taken that option off the table, she'd fallen into a communication major almost accidentally, because her advisor had told her it was a good place to start. Now she has a diploma, a job at Jitters, and no idea what to do.

Barry gets up from his desk, and she watches him stretch his long arms. He's so tall now that it's almost unbelievable, but the physical awkwardness of his teenage years has been replaced by a level of confidence he's never had before. Not that it's enough. Iris can't understand why her best friend is unable to see what he has to offer—he's handsome, charming, and brilliant. What girl wouldn't want that?

"Let's go outside," he says. "This analysis will wait. The guys on the case are out anyway." Iris falls in step with him, and they go down to the first floor of the precinct and then out into the warm sunshine.

"I don't want to work at a coffee shop forever," she says, as they take their places on a stone bench.

"What about journalism?" Barry looks at her, a serious expression on his usually-smiling face. "I can see it now: Iris West, Ace Reporter." His intensity is replaced by a sudden grin.

She's quiet for a moment, thinking. "I do like to talk to people," she muses. The man next to her chuckles, but his laugh is so infectious she can't get annoyed. She punches his arm lightly. "I better get back to work. Thanks, Barry. I'll think about it." She stands up and gives him a side hug. "You're good with advice."

* * *

><p>Barry Allen squares his shoulders and walks back into the precinct alone. He's the same height he was ten minutes ago, but he feels taller. Iris West has been a lot of things to him over the years: Sister, friend, therapist, catalyst. For once, he feels like the one with the answers.<p>

It's a very, very good feeling.

* * *

><p>Joe West meets his daughter at the family-owned Italian restaurant down the street from the precinct. He likes to have dinner with her alone at least once a week. Helps him stay in the loop.<p>

"Hi, Baby," he says, joining her at a corner booth. She stands up and wraps an arm around his neck, kissing his cheek. She may be twenty-five, but she's still his little girl, and nobody's going to convince him otherwise.

Once they have a basket of bread and a plate of calamari in front of them, Joe looks up from his menu and studies his daughter's face. "You seem less stressed than the last time I saw you."

"I am," she answers readily, smiling in the way that always takes his breath away. He's had years to become accustomed to Iris's inner and outer beauty. He never has. She still stuns him every time he sees her.

"I've decided what to finish my Master's in," she continues. "I'm going to be a reporter."

Joe smiles. It's the perfect career for his extroverted, intelligent daughter. "I'm glad to hear it. How did you decide?"

"Barry," she answers. "We were talking at the precinct the other day, and he thought of it. I gave it a few days, but I'm pretty sure he was right."

"He's a smart kid," says her father.

He remembers looking out the window and seeing his kids on a bench together earlier in the week. He doesn't tell Iris what he thought at the time, which was that they looked good together—easy, happy, comfortable. Iris has always calmed Barry down; Barry has always expanded her horizons.

That afternoon, while he'd l watched his surrogate son smile at his beautiful daughter, he'd decided he was very glad he'd never tried to adopt Barry, out of respect for the kid's love for his biological father.

There's a law against adopted siblings getting married, and Joe West is well acquainted with the law.


	9. Lightning

**Lightning**

Iris West used to be afraid of lightning. When she was a small girl, she would wake up crying in the middle of storms and sneak into her father's room, trying not to wake him. Joe always woke up anyway, alert to any sounds of distress from his little girl. She would fall back to sleep in his arms, because even lightning couldn't scare her when her Daddy was near.

It's been many years since she realized the truth, that lightning is just a part of life. She ceased to be afraid of it when she understood its place in the world.

Except, the night of the particle accelerator, lightning gets personal again. It comes for her heart—not the one that lives in her chest; the one she gave to her best friend years before. It comes for Barry.

She sits in the hospital waiting room and cries, harder than she ever did when she was a child. Joe comes; he holds her, just as he always has. For the first time, though, it's not enough to stop her tears.

The days blur into weeks and months, as she goes through the motions of her life. But something is very, very wrong. Lightning used to have its place in her world; now it looms bigger than ever before, and she feels like she's eight years old all over again.

Sometimes people are like lightning. Sometimes the way they smile, the touch of their hand, their easy laugh, is like a flash of something that knocks you off your feet. Barry Allen has always had his neat little place in Iris's life. Now that she's in danger of losing him, she feels like her whole world is in danger of collapsing.

* * *

><p>Barry is motionless. He does not open his eyes. He has no conscious thoughts. But his body is on fire. His every cell dances through him like mercury, making something new, something the world has never seen before.<p>

Everyone who has ever known Barry Allen has felt his light, the flash of joy that comes from inside him and warms everything it touches. Perhaps the world should not be surprised when that light bursts into a million prismatic colors and refuses to be contained in an ordinary body.

* * *

><p>There's a vicious storm pounding the city, but Joe West makes his trek to Star Labs like he always does, like clockwork. Lightning flashes in the sky above him, and he remembers the night that changed everything. No, not the night that put Barry Allen into a coma, the one before, the one when his cop car had transported a doctor to jail while his son screamed.<p>

As usual, the girl, the one with the pale face and long hair, shows Joe inside the lab and to the room where Barry is lying with tubes and wires coming out of him, his every cell monitored every second. Joe reaches out and touches the boy's hair. "Hi, Barry," he says. They say people in a coma can hear you. Maybe.

He remembers driving back to the Allen house, that long-ago night. He would answer a million questions after that—Why take Barry in? Why this kid and none of the others from any of his other cases? Why refuse to give up on this one? Sometimes, when they met Barry, the social workers and other cops would nod knowingly. He was a lovable kid, the kind of kid anyone would want to take in. It made sense.

But that was not why Joe West had taken him in. Only Joe knows what happened that night—and Barry, but he's not awake to recall it. Joe starts speaking, in his low, quiet voice, hoping that somewhere, wherever the boy's brain finds itself, he will be heard.

_Do you remember? I tried to hug you that night, but you wouldn't let me. You were so angry I think you would have hurt me, if you could have. A lot of people think I took you in because you were a good kid—and you were a good kid, a great kid—to everyone but me. You hated me, Barry? Do you remember? _

_That night was the first time you ran from me. I told you I would take you somewhere safe, and you took off in your sneakers out the door. I followed you. Didn't even have to use my car. You weren't very fast._

_You stopped when you knew you couldn't get away. You were crying like nobody should ever have to cry. And you yelled that you hated me. That was the first of many times. But right before you said it, something crossed your face, like a flash of lightning. _

_You were glad I came, Barry. For a split second, I could see it. You were scared to death to be alone, and you knew I would take care of you. That's why I took you in. None of the rest of it mattered, because you trusted me, even if you didn't want to. _

_You've been my kid since that night, Barry Allen. I don't know where you're running now, but I hope you come back soon. _

Joe has said similar words many times over the long months of Barry's coma. He says them, then rises and wraps his arms around the kid as best he can. They say it can't hurt anything.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: We've reached the beginning of the show...woohoo! Thanks to everyone who's still around reading this. **


	10. Awakening

**Awakening**

Iris West catches a silhouette in her peripheral vision, outside the Jitters window—a man, tall and slim. She shakes her head and serves lattes to Mr. and Mrs. Green, smiling the way she always does.

She should be happy. She has a good job, good grades, a father who dotes on her, and a boyfriend who treats her like a princes. But there's a hollowness to her smile. Nine months on, her breath still catches when she sees somebody who looks like Barry.

It's like that story her father used to read to her and her foster brother—_The Empty House_, the story about Sherlock Holmes returning from the dead. Barry had always asked about the case, the science behind solving a locked room mystery. She'd just enjoyed the magic of a dead man coming back to surprise his best friends.

Now that she's an adult, she wonders if those friends had ever felt like she does, had heard violin strains when there were none or seen a tall, thin silhouette and almost lost their breath with longing. She has always understood her life through books, but some are more painful than others.

As she goes back to the counter to collect another order, the door opens. Her eyes start at the man's feet and travel upwards. She can neither think nor speak. It's as if all the happiness she hasn't felt for the past nine months is coming to life inside her, filling her with equal parts tears and smiles.

She finally comes to his face, finally lets herself realize that Barry Allen is standing in front of her, as full of life as the day she met him. He is no mirage, no empty silhouette sent to taunt her grief.

He is real, and as his arms close around her, she feels real, too.

* * *

><p>Barry walks down the Central City street, feeling the breeze on his face and the sun on his back. He's happy to be alive, but there's something more, something he can't quite understand yet.<p>

It's as if nine months have re-birthed him into something new, but isn't that silly? He figures it's just the relief of finally feeling whole.

And yet—it's like he has a sixth sense now, as if he can see time passing, in seconds and minutes, in front of his eyes. There's something strangely satisfying about the feeling, as if time itself has welcomed him into its embrace.

Part of him wants to run, to see just how fast he can go, but first, he walks through the front entrance of the CCPD.

* * *

><p>Joe West answers his phone. He always answers when Iris's name pops up. "Hi, Baby."<p>

"Hi, Dad. It's—Barry." She's crying. Joe goes on immediate alert, trying to ready himself for whatever news is coming. For nine long months, he's been preparing himself for the worst. People rarely live through what Barry Allen has endured.

"He's awake. He's ok." Iris sobs out.

"Huh?" Joe's eyes mist. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Daddy, I saw him a few minutes ago. I think he's coming over there to see you. I wanted to let you know first, so you wouldn't have a heart attack." Joe laughs, the first real laugh he's allowed himself in a long time.

"Thanks, Baby."

The cop puts his phone down on his desk and breathes deeply, watching the door. It's not long before a lanky kid in a jacket walks through it. Like his daughter before him, Joe starts at the feet and ends at the face, hardly able to believe what he's seeing.

Loving Barry Allen has given him plenty of near-heart attacks. Today, though—today is when it's all worthwhile. He wraps his son in the tightest hug he can, and he holds on for a long time.


	11. Dads

**Dads**

Iris hates conflict. She's always hated it, not because it scares or threatens her, but because it seems so incredibly pointless to her when people won't just say what they mean. It's a quality she inherited from her father, who isn't shy about, well, much of anything.

She especially hates it when Joe and Barry are fighting. Oh, it's not fighting in the knock-down, drag-out sense. That might be easier, actually. It's the kind of fighting when neither one of them wants to talk, and she can't fix it.

It's in these times that she's forced to remember that Barry isn't actually her brother, is the progeny of people with a different conflict style and a different history. If it were up to her, she would march into her father's office and talk it out. She knows by experience that he's usually only mad when he's worried. It's sweet, except when it blows up into one of the legendary West-Allen standoffs.

She wants to shake them both.

Except, well, it's different with fathers and sons. She's old enough to know that by now. It's not just that Barry comes from a different family, and it doesn't really matter how old he is. She can sweet-talk Joe West into a lot of things, but her brother is different.

It's like those National Geographic videos from science class, the ones of lions head-butting each other. For Iris, becoming a woman was a graceful, gradual process. Sure, Joe had vetoed a few boyfriends and a few outfits over the years, but overall, she'd gone from flats to high heels without much of a problem. It's different with Barry, so very different. Becoming a man, somehow, is about a weird dance of head-butting and reconciling, over and over. Even the sweetest nerd in the world has to test his independence.

But maybe that's comforting, she thinks. Lions don't test their strength against those outside their tribes. Maybe the conflict is not meant to remind her that her brother comes from another family. Maybe it's supposed to show her just how much he belongs.

* * *

><p>Barry sits on the edge of a table at Star Labs, feeling sick to his stomach. He doesn't get angry that often, and he doesn't like it. He forces his mind to focus on his father's face, the face he only sees behind protective plexiglass.<p>

He can't let himself think of Joe West's face. Joe isn't the man who gave him life, isn't the man he wants desperately to free, isn't his father.

The problem is, if that were really true, he wouldn't feel the knot of guilt eating him alive. The irony is that you don't say, "I'm not your kid," with tears in your eyes, unless you're somebody's kid. And you don't say, "You're not my father," with that kind of anger, to someone who doesn't deserve the title.

He has a dad in Iron Heights, but that dad isn't the one who chased him every time he ran, who forgave him every time he yelled, and who still checks on him to make sure he's ok. It's not disloyal to Henry Allen to admit the truth: He's Joe West's kid, and he always will be.

* * *

><p>Pizza heals all wounds, at least, it did when Barry was fourteen, and Joe had punished him for something he hadn't done. The cop still remembers that with regret. When you're a dad, your mistakes stay with you, even as the years pass.<p>

Three pizzas. The kid can eat. No telling where he puts it on that lanky frame.

It's a peace offering. Joe just hopes they can move on, hopes that his acknowledgement of Barry's abilities will let them pass through their latest conflict and forge a new path.

Except, it hurts. Joe West knows he isn't perfect, but he can't help hearing the words over and over in his mind. "I'm not your kid, and you're not my father." He's tried. Lord knows, he's tried. Those nine words are like knives, poking all the memories of the times he yelled when he should have been silent and said no when he should have said yes.

He's in for the long haul. When you're a dad, it doesn't matter if your son disowns you, stares at your face and tells you he doesn't belong to you. He's still your kid.

"I know I'm not your father." He'd hoped they wouldn't have to rehash it again, have another conversation that cuts the wound even deeper.

"You're right. You're not." Joe can't believe how much he can hurt. But that's not the end of the conversation; it's just the beginning.

Neither of them has ever spoken aloud what it is that exists between them, and Barry's words feel like the last crumbling of a wall that has been falling, steadily, for fourteen years, the wall between a cop and his surrogate son.

Joe cries, but he doesn't mind. When you're a dad, there are tears, but those tears are worth it.


	12. Isolated

**Isolated**

Iris is frustrated. She can read Barry Allen like a book—usually. It's not like him to keep things from her. He's terrible at lying. He always has been.

When they were both in eighth grade, Joe had refused to let them go to a friend's overnight birthday party. Too many kids, too few adults, he'd said. So, Iris had concocted a plan—business as usual until Joe went to bed, then sneaking out for the night and coming back before her father would be awake.

It wasn't like her or Barry to go against Joe like that, but eighth grade could be brutal, and she didn't want to be the least cool girl in school for the rest of the year. It went without saying that Barry never would have snuck out if she hadn't begged him.

Everything went perfectly. They'd have gotten away with it, too, except that Barry Allen couldn't lie to save his life. At 7:00a.m., Joe had gotten up. By 7:15, her brother had caved and told him the whole story. They'd both been grounded for a month. The only part Barry never told was that the whole thing had been Iris's idea.

At 25, Barry's ability to lie hasn't improved any, but it's become an endearing quality. Iris has met a lot of guys who lie about as often as they breathe. It's refreshing to know that her best friend will never be one of them.

Except, there's something. She can't tell what it is, but it bothers her. Anything between her and Barry Allen feels like a cloud blocking the sunshine.

* * *

><p>Helping people is satisfying, maybe the most satisfying thing Barry's ever done. The problem is, he can feel himself fraying a little bit at the edges. Every day, he discovers something new his body is capable of doing, but every day he also feels the pressure of his new life.<p>

He doesn't like keeping things from Iris. And he's begun to wonder—what if he'd had his new-found power the night his mother had been killed? He knows he can't hold himself responsible; he's spent years trying to let go. But he can't keep the thought from coming.

The truth is, being a metahuman makes him feel like a little kid again, like the kid who felt like the only one in the whole world who really knew what had happened that horrible night. Isolated. He does his job; he saves the world, and he saves Joe West. But he feels alone.

That's why he drives to Iron Heights and listens to a story he's heard a million times, letting his tears fall and not bothering to stop them. He doesn't mind crying in front of Henry Allen. They can't touch, but they can share a memory of the woman they both loved. As he leaves the prison, he feels warmer, safer, a little less lonely.

* * *

><p>Joe wakes up with the worst headache of his life. He smiles anyway, because his kid is across the room, sleeping like he doesn't have a care in the world.<p>

No one who never lived in the West house would understand why it makes the detective so happy to see Barry Allen sleeping, no one who wasn't there for the first two years.

The shrink said the boy was too old to be afraid of the dark. She said it shouldn't take so long for him to get over it, that his surrogate father shouldn't "cater" to the kid. Joe's answer was to get a new shrink and keep sitting by Barry's bed, every night, until the fear in the boy's eyes finally gave way to exhaustion.

Joe counted all the books in the boy's bookshelf a hundred times and recited paragraphs of police law in his mind to keep himself awake, night after night, to watch and make sure his son was all right. Mostly, he studied the way Barry would scrunch into himself, pulling his arms and legs tight to his body, like he was barricading himself against the world. Sometimes, on the bad nights when the nightmares came incessantly, he would sit closer, stroking the hair that feel across the little boy's forehead to remind him that he was there.

When Barry was thirteen, it had finally gone away, not all at once, but gradually. The boy had begun to fall asleep without a light on, and after a while, he'd started to sleep sprawled out, relaxed, like a normal kid. Joe had stopped keeping vigil by his bed, but he'd still checked on him. Until he was fifteen. Not that he'd ever told Barry that.

"It's been a while since I watched you sleep." He's rewarded with a groggy smile.

"Rescuing you is exhausting." It's strange, Joe thinks, to know that the boy walking toward him is now his rescuer. He's used to being the one doing the saving.

"I really miss the ability to be able to ground you." It's a lighthearted, teasing joke, but it's a little bit serious, too. For Joe, grounding his kids had never been about anger or punishment. It had always been about protection, teaching them to stay away from things that could hurt them, keeping them from danger, training them to be the kinds of adults who would make safe choices, emotionally and physically.

But, as much as he wants to, he can't protect the fastest man alive. He can't erase the faraway, lost look Barry gets these days. Sometimes, he's like a kid again.

Joe takes his son's hand, squeezing it as tightly as he can. He may not be able to fix things the way he could fix them when Barry Allen was a scared twelve-year-old, but at least he can let him know he'll never be alone.


	13. Felicity

**Felicity**

Besides Barry Allen, Felicity Smoak is the cutest nerd Iris has ever seen. Between them, they put baby chicks and boxer puppies to shame. Barry has dated a few people, now and then, but never seriously. At twenty-five, with a good job and a settled life, it makes total sense that he'd go for a girl who is so obviously compatible with him.

Except, he doesn't. And it makes no sense.

Iris can usually predict Barry's behavior the way astronomers know the phases of the moon. It's not rocket science, and she's known him for over fourteen years. He has a lot of great qualities—precious, humble, thoughtful, kind—subtle isn't one of them.

Finally, she settles on the only reason that makes any sense to her—Barry's notorious lack of confidence. She would do anything to make him realize—_really _realize—that he's better than a great guy, but no matter how hard she tries, he's determined to let Felicity go.

* * *

><p>Barry likes Felicity Smoak. He likes her more than almost anyone he's ever met in his life. She's smart, she's beautiful, and she's kind. Can't ask for much more than that.<p>

Except, there's someone else who is smart, kind, and beautiful, who grew up one door away from him. He can't explain why it is that talking to Felicity is nice, but talking to Iris West lights him up like he's a decorated Christmas tree. He couldn't tell you why kissing Felicity is like comforting a good friend, while even thinking about kissing Iris makes him grin so hard he feels like his face will break. There's no rhyme or reason to why Felicity's advice—good advice—makes him think and act, but Iris's advice makes him feel like a kid again, wrapped up in a warm, safe blanket.

He can't explain any of it, but it's true.

* * *

><p>Joe West is really glad that years of doing interrogations have made him good at looking totally neutral no matter what anyone says to him. He listens patiently while Iris eats her spaghetti—one of his specialties—and tells him that she can't think of a single good reason why Barry won't ask out Felicity Smoak—that girl visiting from Starling City.<p>

"Dad, you've got to talk to him. You can always get him to change his mind," Iris pleads.

"All right, Baby, I'll talk to him," Joe promises. He doesn't say what he plans to talk_ about__._ He's kept what he knows to himself for a very, very long while, and he figures it's about time he came clean with his surrogate son. He just hasn't decided how to approach the subject yet.

It amuses Joe that his children seem to forget, constantly, that he's an award-winning police detective. He'd be a pretty lousy one if he couldn't see what Barry Allen hasn't been able to hide for about eleven-odd years.

Iris gives him a hug and a kiss and leaves for the late shift at Jitters, and Joe considers calling Barry, but he decides against it. He'll let the conversation happen naturally. Barry will come to him, like he always does, and Joe will be able to bring the talk around to the thing that everyone except Iris can see. He smiles to himself when he imagines the look on the kid's face. It'll be worth it just to see that—not to mention having a chance to tell Barry that a foster son can be a killer son in law.

Those kids think they know more than him these days. It's nice to know he can still surprise them.


	14. Between

**Between**

Iris has read all of Barry's comic books, and she knows about superheroes. Often, they're a grim lot. They speak in low, gravely voices and rarely smile.

Except, when she meets Central City's own superhero—the one she'd really like to call _hers_—he's not like that at all, at least she doesn't think so. Looking through that vibration thing he does with his face, she sees him smile, maybe even wink.

Superheroes don't wink at blog-writing baristas, she tells herself. They're too busy saving the world. The kind of people who wink at her are people like Barry, her best friend, not red-wearing men who streak across the night like fireworks.

But she saw what she saw, and she can't help it.

When she's lying in bed later, trying to sleep, she can't shake the euphoria the memory brings her. It's almost like—well, it's almost like her city has somehow produced a superhero who's just a little bit like Barry Allen. She laughs at her own thoughts, but they persist.

Central City, she thinks, could do worse. A lot worse.

* * *

><p>Barry is caught. Ever since his awakening, he's known things couldn't continue in comfortable equilibrium, not when he's part-scientist, part-superhero. Or maybe all one and all the other.<p>

He just hadn't expected Iris to be the one he'd have to try to save. Except, sometimes saving someone from danger can feel a lot like hurting them.

He trudges to his lab, feeling worn out and empty. Joe is there. Of _course _Joe is there. He has superpowers of his own, it sometimes seems to Barry. He always knows when he's needed.

* * *

><p>Joe is worried about his kids—about Iris, who won't give up her obsession, and about Barry, who's trying to understand a gift he never asked to receive, a gift that sometimes seems like a curse.<p>

He shares a laugh with the kid. That always breaks the ice. Plus, how could he not laugh at the sheer absurdity of his surrogate son being able to do something as ridiculous as vibrating his own vocal cords?

Over the years of raising a daughter and a son, the detective has become a master at moving conversations around to where he wants them. The teenage years taught him that you can't always be as direct as you'd like, or else you'll shut kids down like you've flipped a switch. You have to be subtle.

"Not everything." He dangles the bait, giving a pointed look to the uncomfortable young man in front of him. It's high time they were open with each other. He's rewarded with a look of slowly dawning realization, but it's followed by embarrassment.

That's not what Joe wants, not at all. What he wants to do is to reassure. There's nothing good about shame and nothing to be ashamed of. If it were up to him, Barry and Iris would already be married, living in a comfortable little house in a safe suburb of Central City.

He can't deny that it's immensely satisfying that his approval can still calm Barry Allen like it could when he was twelve. That second year was when things had turned from ugly to peaceful, when the kid he already thought of as a son had started returning his hugs and asking him for advice.

It's late, but he doesn't mind. He's accomplished what he set out to do. He opens his arms, like he always does. He likes to think he turned Barry Allen into a hugger, but he knows it's not really true. There's always been so much love in that kid that it was bound to come out somehow.

Barry thanks him. He wants to ask why, but he really knows. Every thanks between them covers today, and it covers years. There's no need to elaborate.

* * *

><p>"Dad, he says—he doesn't want to see me for a while." Iris isn't crying, but sometimes that's worse, Joe knows. He sits on the couch beside her and offers an embrace. She leans into him and buries her face in his shoulder.<p>

"Barry's got a lot going on right now," he soothes.

"It's not even about me," Iris adds. "I'm just afraid he's giving up."

Joe puts a big arm around his little girl. "Don't worry, Baby. Nothing can keep that kid down. Nothing at all."


	15. Strength

**Strength**

Once, when she was small, long before Barry had come to live in her house, Iris West went on a drive with her father. He wouldn't tell her where they were going, but she didn't mind. Joe's surprises were always good surprises.

After a half hour, they pulled over into a deserted field, acres of land without a building in sight. "We're here, Baby," said Joe, lifting her out of the car. As daylight gave way to night, she watched him put a blanket down and take out a flashlight and a jar.

"Come here." He held out his arms, and she took a seat on his lap in the middle of her grandmother's old crocheted afghan. "Rest a while," he'd said, and she'd snuggled into him and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, Joe was shaking her gently. "Look, Iris."

She'd opened her eyes and thought she was in wonderland, surrounded by golden lights above and beside her, the air buzzing with magic.

"Fireflies," said Joe softly. "Do you want to catch some?" He held out the jar, but Iris shook her head.

"No, Daddy. They should be able to fly." Joe cradled her against him, and she watched the aerial dance until she was too tired to stay awake any longer.

It's that memory that comes to Iris's mind in the middle of Jitters, when somebody calls Barry her "shadow." It's entirely the wrong word. Shadows are about darkness and reflection. Her brother and best friend is much, much more than that.

He gives far too much light to be a shadow.

That's why she'd let him go, when he'd asked. She's always known it couldn't be right to catch a firefly in a jar and try to keep its light for yourself. All you'll do is choke it. Barry is too precious to her to be manipulated or controlled. If he needs space, she gives it. She can't bear to choke the light out of someone so beautiful.

But she learned something else, that long-ago night. Entwined with the memory of Joe's safe arms around her is the memory of how close fireflies will come if you offer them a safe place to land.

Barry comes back, like he always does, and as he sits across from her, she remembers how it felt that long-ago night when a firefly came close enough to brush her cheek with its wing.

* * *

><p>Memories are a strange thing, Barry thinks. The memory of his childhood terror, followed by the first time in his life that he'd ever been knocked down by a girl, should be painful, shouldn't it? But he finds himself smiling instead of wincing. Joe had tried to teach him to box. It hadn't worked. That, too, should be painful. It isn't.<p>

Instead, what he remembers most is how it felt when Joe wrapped him in an embrace so tight nobody on earth could break it. He'd lived with the Wests for over a year, but he'd still been a little wary around the cop, a little scared.

He'd wanted Joe to think he could fight his own battles. It was Iris who'd told her father he couldn't.

That day, he'd learned something—that being strong doesn't mean you have to hate people who are weaker, and it doesn't mean you have to use your strength to make yourself feel bigger. Sometimes, he'd learned, the best use for a pair of strong arms is to hold somebody who needs it.

For a moment, he lets himself linger in the memory of feeling perfectly safe and perfectly loved.

That memory, and what it taught, is why he has to run. It's the reason he pulls children out of the paths of cars and stands his ground when people threaten his city. He's strong now, and strength means responsibility.

It's not about being tough or being invincible. It's about being kind to those who need it most.

* * *

><p>Joe West hates bullies. He hates them generally, but even more when they threaten his kids. He well remembers how angry he'd been when Iris had told him that someone was messing with Barry Allen.<p>

He was old enough and wise enough to understand why. Bullies zero in on those who are vulnerable, who most need protecting. He was also wise enough to know that he couldn't step in and stop it.

He'd agreed to teach Barry to fight, but that wasn't the point. Not at all. What he'd wanted was to show his fragile son what true strength meant—that the strongest people are not the most physically powerful, but the ones who choose kindness, over and over, even when they get hurt.

He'd wondered, back then, with Barry held tightly in his arms, if he was a good enough man to communicate that message.

As he looks into the face of the scientist he calls son, he realizes, with startling clarity, that he's succeeded far more than he ever could have imagined. Barry Allen has grown up a good man, and that is the strongest thing there is.


	16. Human

**Human**

"Iris, I failed."

"Really?" The ninth-grader looks at her best friend and raises her right eyebrow. "Is this one of those things where you got a 92 instead of a hundred?"

"No, I actually failed." Barry shows her the top of his test with a big, red F on it.

"It's ok." Iris immediately goes into comforting mode, seeing the heartbroken look on her surrogate brother's open face. "Mrs. Eaton will let you take it again. She always does that."

Barry shakes his head. "I totally don't get French."

"That's ok," Iris reiterates. "My dad will get you a tutor. I had one for Math for a while, before you lived with us."

"Your dad," her friend shakes his head like he's just remembering Joe West exists. "He's going to be so mad."

They're outside the school building now, and Iris turns to him and gives him a quick hug. He's taller than she is now. "All my dad cares about is that we do our best, Barry. You know that."

* * *

><p>Barry is a little afraid of Joe's response, but it's not just that. Being smart is the one thing he has, the one thing that defines him. He's never failed a test in his life, and he feels like his world is turning upside down.<p>

He still feels like the odd one out, a lot of the time. He's not Iris, with her perfect smile, her athletic ability, and her brains. Joe is proud of her. Of course he is. Barry doesn't even have the claim of being Joe's actual son. He's just the gawky neighbor kid who lives upstairs.

He doesn't always think like that, but when he looks at the red F, all of his insecurities come rushing back. If he doesn't have the one thing that actually makes Joe West proud, what does he have?

"I can't live without being smart," he thinks.

* * *

><p>Barry Allen is staring at the floor as Joe accepts the paper from him. "I need you to sign this," he says softly.<p>

The detective looks at the grade at the top and asks, his tone of voice calm, "What happened, son?"

"I studied," Barry answers. "It just didn't make any sense to me. Look, I know I'm grounded. Just tell me how long."

Joe puts an arm around him. "You study harder than anybody I know. I'm not grounding you for doing your best and coming up short." To his surprise, all this does is make Barry's shoulders slump even more. "Come with me," says the detective, leading the way outside to his car. Barry follows without saying anything, but his eyes look suspiciously misty.

Joe drives to LoveBoat Ice Cream, one of his family's favorite places in all of Central City. "Get out," he says.

"Why are we here?" Barry asks, clearly confused.

"Ice cream, kid. Why else would we be here?" His son closes his mouth and doesn't say anything else except for his usual order (chocolate and pistachio) until they're seated at a round, white table.

"Joe," Barry finally asks, "why did you get me ice cream for failing a French test?"

The detective laughs. "You looked like you needed it, son. Besides, I'm proud of you."

"For failing a test?" the boy asks again, his eyes wide.

"For being a great kid," Joe answers, leaning forward across the table and putting a hand on his son's forearm. "Barry, I know you're probably the smartest kid at that school, but do you think Iris or I care about that?"

The boy blinks hard and shrugs. Joe puts down his cup of strawberry and vanilla, locking eyes with his distressed surrogate child. "It's ok to be human. We don't love you because you're a genius. We love you because—you're you."

"But Joe," Barry argues, "Iris is—perfect. I'm not anything. I'm just good at science."

The detective closes his eyes. Part of him wants to shake Barry Allen into next Tuesday, until he gets the truth through his thick skull. The other part keeps him quiet until he can pick the right words. "Son," he finally says, "no matter what you are, you're my kid, and you're Iris's best friend. That's all you have to be. Your intelligence is a gift, but it's not who you are."

Barry rubs hard at his eyes with his napkin, and Joe feels like he's made his point.

* * *

><p>Sometimes Iris feels like she does nothing but worry about Barry. Sure, he's always been a little bit vulnerable, but these days he seems as fragile as his favorite mug that lies shattered on the floor.<p>

He's busy, like always, but she catches him on the sidewalk outside the precinct and stands on tiptoe to give him a surprise hug. "Hey," he says ruefully, putting his arms around her, "I can get a new mug."

Iris punches him lightly in the arm. "It's not that. You just looked like you needed a hug."

"Yeah," he admits. "Not really feeling like myself today."

"Well," Iris answers, "on your worst day, you're still pretty great."

* * *

><p>Barry feels like he weighs a ton. When you've been able to fly, going at the same pace as everyone else is like crawling.<p>

To anyone else, it might seem silly to be so attached to something he's only had for a few months, but other people, even those closest to him, can't fully understand how his powers have changed his life.

It's not about what he can do; it's about who he is. In his normal life, he might still be the gangly scientist who can't show up on time, but whenever self-doubt tries to creep back into his mind, he remembers that he's The Flash, and he feels better.

Except, he's not The Flash any more. He's just Barry Allen. And that feels like far less than enough.

* * *

><p>Joe follows his kid into the hall outside Eddie's hospital room. "Barry?"<p>

"Yeah?" His smile is back. The detective is glad to see it.

"You know your powers mean a lot to this city, and they mean a lot to me because I've seen what you can do and how much it helps."

"Sure," answers the younger man.

"But," Joe puts a hand on his shoulder, "when it comes to caring about you, none of that stuff matters. Not even a little bit. There wasn't a thing wrong with Barry Allen before he was The Flash, and if—something ever happens to change that again, won't be anything wrong with him then, either." The detective is eaten up with worry, but he doesn't let himself show it. Sometimes his job is just to reassure and comfort, to be a dad, and that comes first.

Barry rubs the back of his neck and grins shyly, staring at the floor. "Sometimes it just feels like that's all I've got."

"You need ice cream, son?" Joe puts his arm around the kid, and Barry laughs.

"Not as much as-I need you." He doesn't look at Joe, but the detective feels the love behind the words.


	17. Recriminations

**Recriminations**

Iris tries to smile as Barry sits opposite her in her Jitters booth.

"Are you ok?" he asks. "You look a little bit upset."

"I'm ok," she answers, not really convincing herself, let alone him. "You know I like to see the best in people. I've always had a hard time—letting that go."

Barry smiles at her, and she notices that he looks a little bit sad too. "That's one of the best things about you," he says. "You always help people see their potential, and that makes them see what they can be."

"Not always," she answers. "I—think I trust my judgment too much sometimes."

Barry puts out his hand and covers hers with it. "Iris, I've never known you to be really wrong about someone in your entire life. Other people don't always see what you see, but that doesn't mean you're wrong."

She shakes her head. "I need to grow up."

"No way," says Barry, his eyes so insistent that she's surprised by the vehemence. "Iris, your belief in the good in this world is what kept me going when it seemed like everything was against me. I still—feel better about things when I remember that you can see light where I can't."

Iris tears up inadvertently. "Thanks, Barry," she says. "It's nice to know that when the world lets me down, you're still you." She interlaces her fingers with his and squeezes his hand.

* * *

><p>Barry sits in his lab, alone in the fading light. He's enjoyed the high of having Oliver Queen around, but he can't shake the sadness that encircles him like a big, black, cloak that threatens to choke him. As much as he knows his actions weren't his fault, he still feels culpable and afraid of what might have been. With powers like his, anger isn't just an emotion; it could be deadly.<p>

Eddie is still alive, but he feels like something between him and Iris has died. He doesn't blame her. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

* * *

><p>"Hey," says Joe, rounding the corner and finding his surrogate son sitting at his desk like a lost child with his head in his hands.<p>

"Hey," says Barry, looking up.

Joe leans agains the front of the desk. "You're not still beating yourself up, are you? I thought we talked about that—a long time ago."

Barry's always been one for endless self-recrimination. That was what Joe had always hated most about disciplining him. It wasn't so much the few days of grounding or lost privileges. It was the weeks after when the kid was practically tiptoeing around, trying to be perfect, doing his best to re-earn his place in Joe's good graces.

The cop had thought it would pass, and so had Barry's shrink, the one Joe actually liked. But it didn't, so he'd finally listened to his instincts and sat his son down, at age 14, over two Cokes and a pizza. "Barry," he'd said, "you've got to learn to let things go. We all make mistakes. I didn't take you in thinking you'd be perfect. When we have a problem, we deal with it, and then it's over. For the love of all that's holy, please get that through your head, or I'm going to lose my mind."

The kid had grinned, and he'd worked on it. It hadn't happened over night, but after a while, he'd settled down, much to Joe's satisfaction.

Barry looks up at his surrogate father and smiles. "For the love of all that's holy, Joe, I'm trying." The cop laughs, knowing they've remembered the same thing.

"Look, kid, you weren't wrong in what you said," Joe says, getting serious again. "I am a big part of why your dad's in Iron Heights. That's a mistake I made that I have to live with, and there's no way I can make up for it, but I'm sure as heck going to do my best to fix it."

For once, the detective doesn't have to ask for a hug.


	18. Complications

**Complications**

Iris is happy. Or, at least, she should be. She's always believed that people have the power to make their own happiness.

But there's something missing, something that feels a little bit flatter than it did before, as if somebody's put a pin in her world and deflated it, so that the joyful red-balloon excitement of her life is just a pile of old rubber.

It's not that she doesn't love Eddie, her father, and her best friend. It's just—well, it's The Flash. She didn't realize how much he'd come to mean to her until she saw his darkness, anger so powerful it frightened her to the core.

She had imagined him as the sun—strong, but with a benevolent power that only helped. Now, that image has changed to something far more sinister. How can she be let down by someone she hardly knows? She has no idea, but it hurts more than it should, and happiness is more elusive than ever.

* * *

><p>Barry has always loved helping people. It had begun with his quest to save his father, but had expanded into something more very quickly. Sure, he'd gone into forensics to satisfy his own need to research and understand, but that compulsion was underpinned by the earnest desire to do work that could save lives, or, at least, avenge those who couldn't be saved.<p>

It's helping Oliver Queen that brings the smile back to his face and reminds him who he is. Even when everything is going wrong, the feeling that he can make a positive difference straightens his spine and puts the spring back in his step.

Barry Allen is not a complicated man, and he knows it. There are two people he loves most in the world, and one thing he wants to do. The awareness that his words have somehow affected the trajectory of the Arrow, well, that's enough to give him hope that he can fix the things that are wrong in his own life.

* * *

><p>Joe West does not like the indefinite and the unexplained. He likes having a well-ordered world in which his children are happy and safe, his work is satisfactory, and all is well.<p>

The problem is, ever since Barry's accident, he feels like he understands less and less about the world he inhabits. He can use a gun and his wits, but those things are no match against the so-called metahumans that The Flash encounters on a seemingly daily basis.

He's supposed to be the protector, not the one who needs protecting. Everything is upside-down.


	19. Brownies

**Brownies**

Iris stares absently at her computer screen, trying to summon thoughts that will give her something to blog about. When she thinks of the Flash, she feels sick to her stomach at the memory of him standing over Eddie. She closes her browser window and wonders if she should start over again with something else. Maybe, she thinks, she should have written a blog about brownies after all.

Brownies were the dessert at her twelfth birthday party. She'd had half her class over, but Barry had disappeared. She'd looked for him all afternoon, even while she opened presents, played games, and ate more than her fair share of pizza. It wasn't like Barry Allen to skip out on pizza, but she figured he was upstairs, laying low in his room so he didn't have to answer questions or deal with people's stares. He got enough of that at school.

Joe had been the life of the party, playing all the games and being everybody's favorite dorky dad. He was strict, sometimes, but that had always been balanced by a heart so big he was her entire class's surrogate parent.

Iris sits back in her desk chair and remembers how much she'd missed Barry. Even then, he'd been her best friend, the only one she really wanted to share her day.

When fifteen over-sugared kids had finally gone home, she'd trudged upstairs to give her foster brother a piece of her mind. She understood why he avoided people, but that didn't mean she had to like it, especially on her birthday.

He wasn't there. The instant she'd opened his door and seen the dark, empty room, she'd felt a mixture of fear and sadness. He was just a kid, and she was a cop's daughter who was smart enough to know how unsafe it was for him to be running alone. But she understood why, and that was what made her sad.

"Daddy," she'd said, running back downstairs, "Barry's gone."

Joe had shaken his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with that kid."

Iris had hugged him then, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. "It's my birthday. Promise me you won't get mad at him."

Joe had knelt down in front of her, like he'd done when she was about six. "Baby, do you think I'm mad at Barry when he runs away?"

"Sometimes," she'd admitted.

Joe had wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "Iris, when you and Barry are in danger, I'm not mad; I'm worried. Sometimes, when I get worried, I get frustrated, but that doesn't mean I'm mad at you, and I'm not mad at him, ok?"

"Ok," she'd accepted readily, but it was a conversation that had stuck with her all of her life.

Iris shuts the lid of her laptop and decides to abandon her attempt for the time being. She'd rather find Eddie and tell him she's glad he's safe, but first, she stops in the kitchen to give her father a quick kiss. "I'll be safe, Dad. Don't worry."

* * *

><p>Barry sits on the edge of the Star Labs treadmill, thinking about irony, about the little boy who'd always wanted to run and never been as fast as he'd hoped. <em>Wish you could see yourself now, kid <em>he thinks. Still, he can't deny it was a good thing he hadn't been very fast back then. He hadn't know where to run to or what to run from. He'd needed people to catch him.

He smells the unmistakable scent of brownies baking somewhere—Cisco likes to bake to relieve stress—and his mind is immediately back to the day of Iris's twelfth birthday. He'd been with the Wests the better part of a year, but he hadn't stopped running. That particular day, what had set him off was the arrival of a huge crowd of kids from school, the same kids who asked him weird questions and treated him like he was different because of his history.

He'd used the confusion of the party to slip away, to run outside and through the streets toward the house he'd once shared with his parents. It was empty; nobody wanted to buy the murder house, at least not yet. He couldn't get inside, but he stood in the yard, peering at the windows and the walls, as if he might magically see something he'd never seen in all the times before. He almost wished the yellow man would come back, so at least somebody would know he wasn't crazy.

He finally sat down in front of the door, the closest he could get to the inside of the house, closing his eyes and trying to remember every detail about his mother—the smell of her perfume, her smile, her laugh.

Time had gotten away from him. It was always getting away from him back then, even more than it did as an adult. The little boy finally checked his Mickey Mouse watch and realized he'd stayed out far longer than he'd intended. He'd planned to slip back into the party at some point, to make it look like he'd never left. It was far too late for that when he finally realized. The sun was getting low in the sky, and it was almost nighttime.

Barry had only ever let himself really cry when he was all alone, and that's what he did then, sitting alone on the front stoop of the house that should have been his home. He missed his parents; he felt terrible for missing Iris's party, and he was sure Joe would be furious this time. He put his head down on his arms and sobbed, not caring because there was no one to judge.

In a short while, the boy heard the sound of a car approaching. He looked up with tear-stained eyes and saw Joe's police cruiser slowly making its way toward the driveway of the Allen house. Barry wrapped his arms around himself protectively. He did not want to be yelled at, and he did not want the cop to be angry at him. But he didn't expect to escape either of those things.

He watched as Joe walked toward him, trying to read the man's expression, but it was neutral. To the child's surprise, the cop came right to him and sat next to him in front of the house. He didn't say anything at all. He simply pulled Barry into his arms and held him.

"Are you mad?" the boy had asked from against his surrogate father's shirt.

"Nope," Joe had answered, rubbing his back comfortingly.

Barry had looked up then, meeting the man's eyes. "Joe, why are you never mad when I run away?"

"I get it," answered Joe softly. "When you or Iris do something dangerous, it scares me, but t doesn't make me angry. There's a big difference. Every time you run, I get a few more gray hairs, but that doesn't mean I don't understand why."

Barry had put his arms around Joe then, holding on tightly. It felt good to be understood, even if the cop couldn't believe his story. "Is Iris mad?" he finally asked.

"No," answered Joe, "but you should apologize to her. You're the only one she really cares about celebrating her birthday with."

Barry smiles to himself. Joe might not remember saying that, but he's never forgotten it. Iris had wanted him most of all. He still feels taller when he thinks about it.

* * *

><p>Joe West melts chocolate over a double boiler, measuring out the perfect amount for his famous brownies from scratch. Iris comes by her love of the confections honestly. She might be out enjoying the company of her photogenic boyfriend, but he plans to have the house smelling edible by the time she gets home.<p>

Baking brownies always brings back good memories for the detective. This time, he recalls Iris's twelfth birthday. On the surface, it seems like it shouldn't be a good memory, another day when Barry had run away, and Joe had found him in tears.

But it's what came after that makes the detective smile. He'd calmed the kid down and driven him home, where his daughter had been waiting by the door.

"Iris," Barry had said, as soon as they'd come inside. "I'm really, really sorry. Is it—ok if I give you the present I made for you?" The boy had looked like he might die if Iris said no, but Joe had faith in his daughter, and she didn't disappoint.

"Sure," she'd said, smiling and giving Barry a quick hug. He'd gone upstairs and come back down with a badly-wrapped package.

Iris had opened it to reveal a globe with holes in the shape of stars. "You—need to plug it in," Barry had said shyly. "I made it in science elective." Iris had followed his instructions and set it on a side table in the living room, plugging it into a wall outlet. Suddenly, the ceiling of the low-lighted room was covered in stars like the night sky, as a light from within the globe illuminated.

"Barry, this is the coolest thing I've ever seen," Iris had said. Joe had to agree. He'd gone into the kitchen then to give his kids a little bit of privacy. When he'd emerged to check on them fifteen minutes later, he'd stood in the doorway and watched.

They'd turned off all the lights and were sitting on the couch together with the globe between them, not talking, enjoying its light. Joe had studied each of their faces, wanting to store their happiness into his mind so that he would never forget it.

That's when he'd seen something that he'd never seen before. By the light of the lamp, he could see that Barry Allen was watching his little girl, and the boy's face wore an expression Joe recognized.

He smiled to himself. Who knew if it would come to anything? But Iris could do worse than that kid. She could definitely do worse.

The detective finishes his mixture and pours it into a dish. It takes time to bake well. You have to put in all the right ratios of the right ingredients, then hope for the best. It's a little bit like parenting. He still thinks Iris could do a lot worse than that green-eyed boy.


	20. Touch

**Touch**

Iris holds her father's hand, standing a few feet away from a gravestone with bright yellow sunflowers on the ground beside it, Nora Allen's favorite. Barry sits in front of the cold stone with his back to the girl and Joe. He has one hand outstretched, holding onto the top of the monument. Iris sees his shoulders shake a little bit, and she's pretty sure he's crying, though she can't see his face. It would have been his mother's birthday. It's the first one since her death.

After a while, Barry gets up and wipes his eyes quickly, then zips his red hoodie around him and walks over to where Iris and Joe are waiting.

"You ready to go, Son?" Joe asks quietly, and Barry nods, his head down and eyes on the ground. Iris wants to hug him, but he's only been living in her house for a few months, and he doesn't give hugs. Sometimes he takes them, if Joe or Iris insists, but he usually acts like they make things worse, not better. It doesn't make sense to Iris. She would hug the whole world if she could. But she stays back and keeps hold of Joe's hand.

That night, after Barry is in his room, Joe knocks on Iris's door. "Come in," she says, sitting on the edge of her bed in her Wonder Woman pajamas. Her father enters and sits beside her, putting a big arm around her shoulders. She leans against him contentedly, enjoying the closeness.

"Baby, let's talk about today, ok? You seemed a little upset after we got home. Did it bother you to go to the cemetery?" Joe's tone of voice communicates concern, but Iris shakes her head no.

"It's not that, Daddy. I just wanted to help Barry feel better, and there wasn't anything I could do," she says.

"I know what you mean," Joe answers with a sigh. "I felt the same way."

"I just wanted to give him a hug," the little girl adds softly, "but I don't think he likes them very much."

"Unfortunately," her father replies, "even hugs can't fix everything."

"They help, though," Iris insists. Her father doesn't say anything else. He just puts both arms around her and kisses her forehead.

She's right, she thinks to herself. Hugs may not be able to fix everything, but they can help with most things—especially if they're her Daddy's hugs.

* * *

><p>Barry feels achingly alone. Joe usually sits with him until he falls asleep, but this time he said no when the man asked if he wanted him. Instead, the little boy lies in bed with the light off in his room, feeling completely isolated.<p>

He's usually less afraid when Joe is there. The cop is big, and Barry is sure he would be able to protect him, but somehow that doesn't make him feel less lonely. The Wests are nice, but he's not one of them, and visiting his mother's grave reminded him of just how fatherless and motherless he is.

Iris and Joe are so close that watching them together makes him feel the hollow in his heart like a knife piercing him. It's not that he dislikes being touched. It's just that when the cop and his daughter try to hug him, it reminds him that he'll never feel his mother's arms again and that the closest he can get to his father is across bulletproof plexiglass.

The little boy closes his eyes tightly and tries to will himself to sleep, but it doesn't work. He keeps seeing the yellow man in his head, and he starts to wish he'd let Joe sit with him.

After all, he doesn't belong to Joe, and Joe doesn't belong to him, but there's something comforting about feeling safe. He can't deny that he feels better when Joe's broad shoulders cast shadows on the wall beside his bed.

"It's ok, Barry."

He remembers the first time he'd ever made a mistake at the Wests. He'd only been there a couple of weeks, and he was trying to help Iris bake cookies. She'd asked for the mixing bowl, but he was just a little too short to reach it on the high pantry shelf, and he'd knocked it crashing onto the floor instead. Glass shards had flown everywhere, and Joe had come running from the living room to see what had happened. Barry had stood in the middle of the mess, quaking in his high tops, scared to death of the cop's response to his clumsiness.

Instead of shouting, he'd felt a warm hand on his shoulder and a calm voice reassuring him that it was ok, that nobody was mad, that it was just a bowl. He'd followed Joe, wide-eyed and wordless, out into the yard, where the cop had hosed off his shoes to make sure there was no glass on them, then bandaged his hand where a jagged sliver had flown up to hit him and drawn blood. After that, Joe had cleaned up the mess himself, saying that it was too dangerous for the kids to be walking around in broken glass.

When it was all over and Joe was washing his hands, Barry had ventured back into the kitchen. "I'm really, really sorry, Joe," he'd said, still anxious about where he stood with the man.

The cop had dried his hands thoroughly and deliberately, the way he did everything, then turned to the boy. "Barry, there's nothing for you to be sorry about." With that, the child had found himself being hugged tightly.

As he lies awake in bed, Barry can't deny that something felt different that time. Usually, Joe's and Iris's embraces remind him of what he's lost, but that time, he only felt comfort and protection. He'd needed Joe's reassurance then, and he needs it now.

Quietly, the little boy gets up and pads out of the room, walking as silently as he can so he doesn't wake Iris. To his relief, the living room light is still on, meaning the cop is awake.

* * *

><p>Joe tries to watch TV, but his mind is on the little boy upstairs, the boy who had barely eaten dinner and then gone up to his room alone. He's come to love Barry Allen as much as if he were his biological child, but that doesn't mean he knows how to fix him.<p>

He knows how his daughter feels; he'd felt the same thing that morning at Nora Allen's grave. He'd wanted nothing more than to hold Barry the way he would have held Iris if she was upset. But the boy was different, and sometimes when Joe touched him, he felt the the child flinch, like there was something very, very wrong. So he'd held himself back, watching and waiting, hoping that the boy would show him what he needed. But now the house is quiet, and Joe is pretty sure the kid is miserable, and he feels like he's failed.

He's about to start a new round of self-recriminations when he hears the faint sound of footsteps. In a few seconds, Barry comes into view. The little boy is pale, and he looks very small and very vulnerable.

"Joe," he says in a barely audible voice, not looking up. The cop gives him his full attention instantly, listening hard to catch the whispered words. "Could I have a hug?"

"Of course," Joe answers, opening his arms wide. For the first time ever, Barry comes to him willingly, standing between his legs and wrapping his arms around the cop's neck like he's holding on for dear life.

Joe holds him for a long time, not minding that he's starting to get a backache from the intensity of the embrace. He doesn't break the hug, but he doesn't resist when Barry finally pulls away. He searches the little boy's face and finds that there's a peace and calmness in his eyes that weren't there before.

_So he does like hugs_, Joe thinks to himself. He just doesn't like to be forced.

"Son, do you want me to sit with you until you fall asleep?" He has a hunch he'll get a different answer than he did the first time he asked that evening. The little boy nods shyly and smiles a little bit.

Joe gets up off the couch, stretching. "Barry," he says, looking down at the boy in Superman pajamas, "I hope you know how much I love you."

To his surprise, he hears a quiet answer. "I love you too, Joe."

After that night, Joe West rarely has a serious talk with Barry Allen that doesn't include the offer of a hug at the end of it. It doesn't matter if he's grounding him, complimenting something he's done, or just offering advice. He always opens his arms, and his surrogate son almost always melts into them. As the years pass, he finds himself hugging a little boy, then a teenager, and finally a young man. It doesn't matter. He's still rewarded each time by seeing whatever fear or pain or confusion lies in Barry's eyes replaced by a look of absolute peace.

* * *

><p>Iris touches the chain around her neck and wishes she could still feel happy about Barry's gift, but all she feels is deep sadness, and she finds it hard not to tear up again when she thinks about his secret. She wants nothing more than to find him and hug him, the way she would have when they were children, when he'd finally let her.<p>

But he's not just a surrogate brother any more, and she's comes up against the immovable fact that there's nothing she can do. Maybe her father was right, she thinks. Maybe hugs can't fix everything.

"They help, though." She still agrees with her little girl self. She just hopes Joe will take care of Barry when she can't.

* * *

><p>Barry feels like he's been kicked one too many times. He closes his eyes and pictures his mother's face, but he can't make himself focus on a happy memory. He just keeps seeing the yellow speedster.<p>

It's dark in his lab. He used to be afraid of the dark. That's when Joe would sit with him, sometimes for hours, while he tried to sleep. He wonders how many nights of good sleep the cop lost because of him. Not that Joe West ever complained.

He remembers how it used to feel when he touched Joe or Iris, like the echo of something he'd lost and could never have again. It's strange to think about how much things have changed. Now their embraces make him feel like he belongs, like they're taking him in all over again, every single time.

Except Iris is now the girl he loves and the girl he's lost. He wonders if he'll ever get to hold her again.

He's sinking deeper into his melancholy when he hears footsteps that he recognizes. He's not a forensic scientist for nothing. He notices details, and he would know the sound of the soles of Joe's shoes anywhere.

Part of Barry feels like he's eleven all over again. He just wants a hug.

* * *

><p>Joe hates seeing his children in pain. It doesn't matter how old they get; his heart still contracts at the sight of either one of them hurting. He's had to endure the sight of a whole lot of pain in Barry's eyes over the years, but this is one of the worst nights he can remember. The kid looks just like fourteen years have evaporated in an instant, leaving him once again the confused little boy who'd been afraid of the dark.<p>

The detective is worried, but he's also proud. He can't help thinking with fondness of the showdown in Star Labs, when he'd told Barry to leave, and his son had actually gone. The kid never would have left on Harrison Wells's orders, but he'd left on Joe's. Pure trust. That's what he's spent fourteen years trying to obtain, and it's what the two of them share. Only pure trust could have taken that kid away from a fight he wanted so desperately to win.

Joe sits down, readying himself for a speech he's never made before. It's all about a worried single dad and the boy who'd changed his life forever. His own story, and Barry's.

When he's all finished, he opens his arms. Like always, Barry returns his embrace, and Joe holds him tightly, just like he'd held the hurting little boy on the night of his mother's birthday. When they finally break apart, the older man finds what he's looking for, absolute peace in the eyes of his son, where chaos and pain used to be.

Years pass, Christmases come and go, but some things never change. Some things are just as important as they were the very first time.

* * *

><p>AN: This is a companion chapter to the brilliant mid-season finale. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did!


	21. Light

**Light**

"Iris, c'mere." The little girl closes her reading book and carefully pushes her chair back under the edge of the table. She walks over to where her father is sitting on the sofa, flipping through _Time_ Magazine. As soon as she reaches him, he pulls her onto his lap.

"Dad, I'm still doing my homework!" she says, smiling.

"Let's talk for a minute," Joe answers, settling her against his chest.

"Ok." Iris starts to feel a little bit nervous. She knows her father had parent teacher conferences all afternoon. She wracks her brain to try to remember if she'd done anything to be worried about.

"Baby, are you happy?" That was unexpected. Iris pulls her head up and looks at her dad's face, trying to figure out where he's going with it.

"Of—of course I'm happy," she answers. "Why?"

Joe holds her tightly. "You know I had those parent teacher things today. Those things scare me to death."

"Uh huh," she answers, listening intently.

"All your teachers said you're one of the best kids in the whole school." Iris relaxes, but she's still curious. "But your English teacher said—she said you're really serious for a kid your age, like maybe you're too worried about things. Look, I know I'm not perfect, but we have fun, right?"

Iris listens to her father's heartbeat and closes her eyes. "Of course we have fun. Are you happy, Dad?"

"Iris, you know you make me happy every day." Joe strokes her hair, and she smiles.

* * *

><p>Barry reads out loud to Iris, explaining their science assignment as he goes along. He's excited. He loves learning about biology and chemistry and physics and, really, anything to do with science. Just a few days after he'd moved into the West house, he'd figured out that his best friend didn't like science all that much, but it was because she didn't really understand it. Now they do their homework together, and he explains the things that don't make sense to Iris. She's starting to like science.<p>

He's starting to like history. As soon as he finishes reading their science chapter, Iris picks up their social studies textbook and reads him a chapter on the Revolutionary War. He'd never liked having to read page after page about people who lived and died before his grandparents were even born, but when his best friend reads to him, those people come to life.

When their homework is finished, Iris challenges him to a game of Monopoly, and they sit down with piles of fake money and cardboard mortgages. "I've got a hotel! You're going down, Allen!" Iris grins at him, and he can't help laughing in spite of the fact that he's losing miserably.

* * *

><p>Even before Joe West gets into the house, he hears loud giggling. He opens the door to find his daughter and Barry Allen sitting at the dining room table with a Monopoly board. "You guys finish your homework?"<p>

"Yeah, Dad."

"Yeah, Joe."

"Want in?" Iris asks. "Maybe you can help Barry not go bankrupt." The cop sits down and accepts the wad of cash and selection of properties that are handed to him, not really caring about the game, just happy to see so much childlike joy in his house and his daughter's face. Barry's only been living with the Wests for a few weeks, and already things are changing.

Later that night, once he's kissed Iris, Joe goes to check on the little boy. "Hey, Bear."

The kid is lying in bed rubbing bleary eyes. "Hi, Joe."

The cop grabs Barry's desk chair and pulls it near the bed. "I wanted to ask you something. I'm a cop—you know that. I'm pretty good at noticing things about people. I know you turn your light off when you're supposed to, but you look like you're not sleeping much. You're pretty tired for a kid getting his eight hours."

"I'm sorry," the little boy says quickly, shame on his face.

"I'm not here to get onto you," Joe answers, shaking his head. "I just want to understand why. Can you tell me? Is it nightmares?" The kid shakes his head no, but he doesn't answer.

"You know you're not alone, right?" the cop ventures after several seconds of silence. "I understand if you can't sleep."

Barry turns over with his face toward the wall. "I get scared—of the dark."

Joe puts out a hand and touches his shoulder gently. "Would it help if I stayed here until you fall asleep?"

"You would do that?" The little boy turns back over and stares at Joe like he's just seen him for the first time.

"Of course I would," Joe answers. "You're my kid." It's the first time he's ever said it, but it feels natural. He rearranges the twisted blanket around Barry's shoulders and strokes the hair across his forehead for a few minutes until the boy is relaxed. He doesn't leave the room until Barry's even breathing signals that he's in a deep, restful sleep.

When he finally makes his way back out to the living room, he realizes how ironic it is that a kid so filled to the brim with light is that afraid of the dark.


	22. Bleak Midwinter

**Bleak Midwinter**

_In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, _

_earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; _

_snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow, _

_in the bleak midwinter, long ago._

Iris stands on a riser, singing her heart out. She looks out at the crowd and sees the parents of her friends in the front and her father and Barry toward the back. Her dad's shift had only left him enough time to sneak into the concert just as it began, but he'd never missed one of her school choir Christmas concerts, and he never would.

As the music swells toward the second verse, Iris stops singing for a second, because she sees Barry suddenly get up from the back row and sprint out the door. She resists the urge to run after him, instead clearing her throat and starting again. She catches Joe's eye. It's not a huge building, and she can see the question on his face clearly. She nods to him, hoping he understands. Barry is the priority. There will be more songs to hear, but her surrogate brother needs her father most.

—

Barry runs until he gets out of breath, and he realizes he's the the parking lot. He goes over to Joe's cruiser and sinks to the ground, leaning against it. He can't get the song out of his head. It's beautiful, but the beauty hurts. It was his mother's favorite Christmas song. Ever since he can remember, she'd played it every Christmas Eve, just before he went to sleep. Even as he'd gotten older, he would snuggle into her arms and let the music wash over him, reminding him that Christmas was near.

This is the first year he has no mother's arms to hold him. The Wests love Christmas, and they've included him in tree decorating, cookie baking, and ice skating, but none of it has felt real. It's like he's been watching himself do it all from a distance, while the real Barry Allen doesn't feel like it's Christmas at all.

—

"Sorry, Joe." The boy stands up and apologizes as soon as he sees the worried-looking cop.

"It's ok," the man answers quickly, looking him up and down to make sure he's all right. "What happened?" He's known all along that the first Christmas would be hard, and he hasn't missed the lost, sad look that fills Barry's eyes when he thinks no one is looking.

"I don't like that song," Barry answers quickly, looking down at his shoes and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ok," says Joe. He's not exactly satisfied, but he doesn't want to push the kid to talk if he's not ready. "Let's go back in. Iris has a solo pretty soon." He inclines his head, and Barry comes over. He puts his arm around his kid while they walk back to the brightly-lit concert hall.

—

That night, Barry knocks on Iris's door. "Hey." She's still in her choir dress, which is red with a huge sash tied into a bow.

She laughs. "I don't want to change clothes. It was such a great night. I don't want it to end."

Barry sits beside her on the floor of her room. "Is it ok if I stay in here for a while?"

"Sure," Iris answers. She's wise enough, even at eleven, not to ask him about what happened during the concert. She just sits down beside him with her shoulder touching his and doesn't say anything.

—

Barry changes into his pajamas and gets into bed, knowing that Joe will be up any minute to sit with him until he falls asleep. He's usually glad, but this time he feels a little bit uneasy.

Sure enough, within ten minutes, Joe knocks lightly before coming in and pulling Barry's desk chair over to the bed. "You ok, Bear?" he asks softly. "I was a little worried about you tonight."

"I'm sorry, Joe," he says, facing the wall. "I lied to you."

"I thought maybe," the cop answers, but he doesn't sound mad. "You want to tell me what that was really about?"

"My—mom really liked that song," Barry admits. "I didn't know they were going to sing it."

"'I'm sorry," Joe says.

"Huh?" Barry is confused. He's the one who lied, but the cop is apologizing. That doesn't make any sense at all.

—-

Joe clears his throat. "Son, I'm a cop. Unfortunately, I've lost a lot of people I cared about. And Iris's mom—I still cry about her, and it's been a long time, Barry. A really long time."

"What I'm saying is, I know how it is when something like that happens. When something unexpected reminds you of the person, and it feels like you got punched in the face. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, let alone my Bear." Joe looks over to see how his words are being received, and he finds a less anguished look on his surrogate son's face.

"Grief isn't pretty, but it's necessary," he continues. "You don't ever have to feel ashamed to tell me how you feel. I know what it's like." He hopes he sounds convincing.

Barry simply says, "Joe, I really miss my mom." His voice is shaky, and there are tears on his face.

The cop suddenly feels like he's about a hundred years old. The weight of the sadness he feels on the little boy's behalf is staggering. He moves over until he's sitting on the edge of Barry's bed and pulls the little boy up into an embrace. It's not much, but he hopes it's better than nothing.

—-

Iris kisses Eddie, but her mind is elsewhere, remembering the tears in her best friend's eyes when he confessed his love to her. There's absolutely nothing she can do. She hates feeling helpless. It reminds her of the night of her first choir concert after Barry had come to live with her, the night when a simple Christmas song had made him look like someone had just killed him inside.

This time, she's the one who put that look on his face with her silence and her inability to answer a revelation she'd had no time to process. She was shocked, but she still hates herself for being the one to make Barry Allen cry.

It had been a bleak midwinter when she was eleven, and it was a bleak midwinter now.

—

_What can I give him, poor as I am? _

_If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb; _

_if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part; _

_yet what I can I give him: give my heart_

"It's about the heart, Barry," his mother would always say. "Christmas is about our hearts—who we love, who loves us. Those are the important things. Presents are fun, but love is what lasts us all year long." He turns her snowglobe over and over in his hands, remembering her smile and the sound of her voice. Some things never leave, no matter how many years pass by.

After a while, he hears a steady footfall, and he watches as Joe makes his way over in the darkness of the low-lit lab. Barry has cried a lot in recent days, but as he listens to the older man's voice, tears fill his eyes again.

His last few days have been unimaginably bleak, and his heart feels fragile, vulnerable and breakable like the globe in his hands. But there are different kinds of love. Iris cannot give him what he desperately wants, but he is far from alone. The heart has many facets, so many more than he'd ever realized when he was the little boy who'd curled up in his mother's arms.

His winter is only bleak until he falls into Joe West's arms for the millionth time and feels the unconditional love that has carried him for fourteen years.

—-

Joe passes out eggnog and smiles at the young people who fill his house, but his heart is heavy. His daughter's happiness is his son's pain. Who ever said it was easy to be a dad?

Still, there's joy in the kind of pain he feels. It's a hurt you only experience when you love someone so much you would give your life and more for them. To experience that kind of love is so fulfilling that it's worth every single moment of bleak pain it brings.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I hope everyone had wonderful holidays. I'd hoped to get this up closer to Christmas Day, but I was very unwell, and I had to have unexpected surgery just before New Year's. I'm feeling better now and looking forward to the return of The Flash!

_In the Bleak Midwinter _was written by the poet Christina Rossetti and is my favorite Christmas song.

Also, the reason I'm spelling it "Bear" is that Candice Patton confirmed that Joe and Iris actually call Barry "Bear" rather than an abbreviation of his name like "Barr."


End file.
